Maria who lives upstairs

No matter how hard I knock, there is no answer. Just as I turn to leave, I hear the sound of slippers dragging, then the sound of a key turning. Through the crack in the open door, I see the sewing machine Maria has used all her life. She always says it’s over 100 years old, and often jokes that the sewing machine still works better than she does, though she’s just over 90. I’m never sure if she’s proud of the machine or sad about growing old.

Maria and I always have almost the same conversation. She often mixes up the past, present, and future. The past becomes the present, the present becomes the future, and In the end, a bitter conversation about death continues.

After World War I, Maria left her village in Santiago, Austria. She was hungry and looking for a better life. She took a boat to America. Her husband Tony fixed boats at the dock, and Maria worked in a sewing factory on 28th Street in Manhattan. They both worked hard, saving money to go back to their hometown. But when they finally returned, her mother had already passed away. A few years later, they returned again, but her father was also gone. One by one, their siblings, relatives, and friends had all passed away. In the end, they could not return to a hometown where no one they knew was left.

When they were young, Maria and Tony loved going to Coney Island. Tony liked to wade into the water and search for lost necklaces, rings, and jewelry left behind by beachgoers. Every summer, he would give these treasures to Maria. Later in life, a thief broke in and stole all the jewelry they had collected over the years. Maria tells this story again and again—not because of the lost value, but because those items held memories. A part of her past was stolen.

Maria has spent many days sitting by the window, looking at the Empire State Building in the distance. She says that New York hasn’t changed much since 1930, only she has changed. She says Manhattan will still be standing, even after she dies. She feels the sadness of growing old.

Today, like always, our talk begins with how her foster daughter came to cut her hair. But soon, Maria begins talking about her childhood in Santiago, Austria. She says she wants to be buried there when she dies.

A plane flies by in the distance. She watches it and says with a smile, “It took 14 days to come to America back then. Now it only takes 8 hours to go home.” 

Now that she is old, she can’t even pick up a letter by herself. She waits for someone to bring it to her. Still, sometimes her face lights up and she says, 

“Next year, I’ll go back home for sure.”

Maria hopes to return to her hometown one day—but we know that someday, she will instead go to be with her husband Tony. Life is a small, precious, fragrant thing. But it ends in a cold and heavy death. And then, maybe, we rest more peacefully than ever before—and are born again as young, beautiful new life.

Even today, Maria passes by Tony’s empty bed and says, “Wake up, Tony.” Maybe she has forgotten that he died a year and a half ago.